Di Inferi
by GoblinQueenie
Summary: A murderer with a penchant for ritual mutilation and sacrifice has NYPD stumped. But can the unlikely scheme of bringing in the legendary Holmes and Watson provide the break they need?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Well. Have been kicking this idea around in my head for years and every attempt I've made to write it has been utterly awful. Hopefully this is less awful, but I can make absolutely no guarantees. That said, I've self edited this to the best of my abilities, but I'm notoriously bad at such things, so please, please, please, if anyone is interested in sacrificing their free time to beta for me I'd love them forever and make them cookies. Or something. You can reach me at GoblinQueenie on AIM and YIM, or goblinqueenie at gmail dot com.

Chapter One

It was promising to be a temperate autumn day: the humidity had relinquished it's soul sucking peaks it had reached in summer and the weathermen promised the dreary cold rain and ice of winter was still far off.

Despite the lovely weather, the two figures seated at one of the prized window tables of the coffee shop didn't seem to be enjoying the sunlight pooling on the wooden table top, making the spoon in one coffee cup gleam.

"Know what, Torres?" the young man began gamely, peeling back the paper wrapper of his muffin.

"Hang on I'm thinking," the woman replied, tapping a random rhythm on the tabletop with her stylus. "Look at this," she said, drawing on her tablet before handing it to her partner.

"A pentagram. Isn't that a bit of a stretch from the three points you have here? Besides, doesn't fit the profile."

"Humor me, Angel."

"I'll look into it, but we're short warm bodies to pull that sort of surveillance."

"You say this like I don't know it. Bah. Our Mephistopheles is making my brain hurt."

"As I was saying, before you interrupted with this brainwave-"

"It's worth looking into, Angel. It's not like we have any good leads. It might be a stretch, but-"

"I already agreed. I'll run it by the profilers when we get in, but I'm telling you – what you should already know, by the way - that it doesn't fit the profile. It may be a neat pattern, but look at two of the points," he paused and tapped on the tablet before handing it back to her. "Too close to places where he might be caught. I mean, one's in the zoo, for Pete's sake. That's not our perp."

"Not yet. But I think he's like most ritualistic killers. Think back to good old Jack. Safe and easy targets at first and then that bold and hideous progression. I think it does fit the profile. He's smart and by doing his dirty deeds in risky places he'll prove that he's smarter than us.

"Speaking of Old Jack," Angel said, voice full of portent.

Torres cut him off, dark eyes narrowed in irritation. "I know what you're going to say, you know what my response will be, we know the argument that will follow it. So, can we skip it and get back to the case at hand, please?"

Her partner sighed. "There's news. They're doing it anyway and if we get on board now then we have a real shot at having first crack at them."

"It may be your idea of a good time to hand hold two Victorians while we try and catch this whack-job, but it's not mine."

"Not just any two Victorians, Torres," he said. "_The _two Victorians. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. The greatest detectives in history. Holmes and Watson! How can you pass that up?"

"Naïveté is hardly charming in cops, Angel."

"Nice."

"I'm not your partner 'cause I'm nice."

"Let's get going," he said with another sigh. "I'll get two to go, if you want to go on ahead."

"All right, thanks," she said, packing her things and slinging a uni-strap back pack over her shoulders. "Jaa."

"Jaa."

**AN: **I know, I know, Holmes and Watson in the future. It's a bit tired, but I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoyed and please tell me what you think. Constructive criticism most welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Thanks to ya'll who reviewed, I'm glad you enjoyed. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up, it may be brief, but it was a right pain. Hopefully chapter three won't be quite so impossible, though I imagine it will be.

Still looking for a beta, you can still reach me at GoblinQueenie on AIM and YIM and goblinqueenie at gmail com.

* * *

Chapter Two

The station house was busy with the every day messes that seemed to be an essential part of the city when Torres arrived. She dropped down at her shared glass topped desk, hooking up her tablet and queuing up her notes and schedule for the day.

Before David could arrive and they could settle into their grim business, a short, dark skinned woman approached. "Morning, Torres"

"Morning, Cap'n," she responded, looking up from her desk.

"I want you and Angel in my office the minute he gets here," the captain said briskly.

"I'm here, I'm here," Angel said, hurrying up to them and throwing his things carelessly onto his chair. "What's up?"

"Office. Now."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," Torres agreed and she and Angel followed the older woman, a few steps behind.

"Did you get us in trouble already?" Angel hissed, trying and failing to hide his nervousness.

Torres, however, was more confused than agitated. "I don't think so," she whispered back, "But it must be something serious for her not to get all worked up over the 'cap'n' thing."

They entered an office marked, 'Samantha Laurie', the captain closing the door firmly behind them. "Sit," she commanded.

Angel and Torres did as they were told, waiting in fidgety silence as Laurie took her customary place behind her large dark desk.

"Well, David. Good news," she began, mildly enough. "Bad news for you though, Ravenna."

The two detectives shared a quick glance and the captain laughed. "Stop looking as though you've been called into the principal's office."

"Well, Cap'n, haven't we?" Torres asked, Angel quickly following with, "Is this about Mephistopheles?"

"Enough of your nautical nonsense. And no, this isn't about your case. Directly." She leaned back in her chair. "I need you to go to Chrono-Gen and pick up your, ah, consultants."

Angel practically leapt out of his chair with glee, "Really?"

"What do they have to do with these murders?" Torres asked with a frown.

"Come on, Torres," he said impatiently. "Don't you read the paper? They're the ones that…" he trailed off as Laurie laughed again at the look of horror on Torres' face.

"I told you it was bad news. Apparently Angel's political leanings and the media coverage of these murders have you first in line for the receipt of two crime solving Victorians."

"This is so not cool," Torres said. "This is… idiocy. Captain, isn't there anything you can do? This case is enough of a quagmire without two time travelers or clones or whatever mucking it up with their less than modern ideas of forensics," she finished with a visible shudder. "Besides, how many cheap pastiches have that particular plot contrivance?"

"No, there's nothing I can do. If you'd been reading the paper, as Angel pointed out, you'd know the Commissioner thinks this is a brilliant idea. There remains, that you will be dealing with Victorians. And despite all that can be said for their investigative abilities, it remains that they will be a bit," she paused searching for the right word, "confused.

"I want you to be the liaison between NYPD, these consultants and the personnel at Chrono-Gen. It's your business to hand hold the Great Detective and his Boswell," she reiterated, as though concerned that the message wasn't clear enough.

Angel was now actually out of his chair, "Thanks, Captain. This is fantastic!"

"Not you, Angel. Torres. _She_ will be their handler."

He sat down again heavily. "No… Captain, you heard what she said! She thinks this is a crackpot scheme and will probably do everything in her power to keep them as far away from the case as possible, regardless of the harm."

"I, er, actually have to agree," Torres said, "As flattering as that was, Angel. Call me chronologically prejudiced but I'd rather stick my hand in a garbage disposal. If you want some cranky Victorians, by all means, leave me in charge of them, but if you actually expect them to live up to their end of this cockamamie plan, then, well, pick somebody else. Anybody else."

"Decision's been made. Angel's too busy dealing with the media and since you two are nominally in charge of investigating these murders, that leaves you. Now then, I believe I told you two to go to Chrono-Gen and pick up Holmes and Watson."

"Fine," Angel said, barely controlling his frustration. "We're going."

Torres followed him mutely out of the door.

* * *

**AN:** Hope you enjoyed, please leave me a note telling me what you thought. Constructive criticism is always welcome 


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Right. Next chapter. Didn't take nearly as long as I expected (by which I mean practically no time at all) and I'd like to warn you not to get used to the speedy updates. I'm usually a notoriously slow writer. Though getting feedback from readers was a huge part of the quick update. As I was telling The Boy, I can't afford to be stuck for long, people actually like it! So thank you, thank you, thank you.

Still looking for a beta. You can still reach me at GoblinQueenie on AIM and YIM and goblinqueenie at gmail dot com.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Three

Like most places that housed experimental technology, Chrono-Gen was only remarkable in that it was so very unremarkable. The only oddity about the series of gray, squat buildings was the tall fence circling a rather large perimeter, topped with razor wire. The fence was merely a visual notice that the place was off limits to the general public: a company as lucrative and secretive as Chrono-Gen could not only afford superior means of protection, but required them.

Aside from the security, it was indistinguishable from any of the other Jersey office parks, especially once the guardhouse had been passed.

Angel and Torres cruised down the long driveway toward the underground parking garage in the same moody silence that had been the hallmark of their entire trip out of the city- each sulking for their own reasons.

When they finally stopped, in the dim of the garage, Torres began, "Angel," but was cut off by the forceful slam of his car door as he got out.

Slamming the door herself, she jogged to catch up with him at the elevators, not doubting for a second that he would leave her behind. "Angel, hang on a minute," she said, catching his arm before he could enter the elevator.

"We're already late, Torres."

"I know, but a few more minutes isn't going to make it that much worse."

He rolled his eyes and sighed, but she continued on as though she hadn't noticed. "Listen. This is ridiculous. I'm sorry I'm stealing your heroes, it's clear I like it as much as you do, but this pouting thing has got to quit."

"I'm not pouting," he snapped.

"I know you are, because I am too."

"Pouter," he accused, but his usual good humor was returning.

She grinned and said, "You called me out. Are we cool?"

"We're cool."

He hit the call button again and they waited in a more comfortable silence. "I just don't get it, though," he said, holding the doors open for her. "The Captain has to know that this is an awful idea."

"When was the last time you remember the Cap'n having an awful idea? We may not like it but-"

"But she has her reasons, which will no doubt become clear and sensible. I know. But still."

"You're telling me, partner," she agreed, as the doors opened, the voice announcing the floors thanked them politely for riding.

The interior of the main Chrono-Gen building was as different from the plain exterior as possible, a symphony of modern-modern architecture, sweeping support curves done in glass and metal, recessed halogen lighting and bold accents of color.

One such accent was the large seemingly floating purple desk behind which a young blonde man was chatting animatedly on a headset.

The two detectives approached, Angel clearing his throat. The man didn't look at them, only acknowledging their presence with a raised hand. Angel turned to his partner and rolled his eyes. Trying to fight down a laugh she was forced to turn around abruptly when the receptionist finally did look up.

Unfortunately, they weren't the center of his attention; he resumed the typical unfocused scanning of someone using a retina screen.

"Hey," Angel greeted. Torres faced him again, mouth still quirking in a suppressed grin.

"Afternoon," he acknowledged, writing something across the desktop with his stylus. "What can I do for you?"

"To start with, could you stop multitasking and actually look at us? Specs creep my partner out, silly I know, but they remind her of Glass addicts, old childhood trauma, Freud, blah blah blah. Humor us," Angel said with a charming smile.

The receptionist returned the smile, tapping something on the desktop. "There, they're off."

"Thanks," Torres said, finally successful at holding in her amusement. "We're here for the Great Detective and the Good Doctor."

"Huh?"

"She means #43706 and #43707," David explained, moving Torres a bit behind him.

"Oh. Them. Who did you say they were?"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," Torres piped up from behind Angel's shoulder.

"Shibby."

"Sure," Angel said pleasantly. "Where are they?"

"If I can sign back on now I can call up."

"Feel free, my friend, just don't look at the lady."

"I'll try not to." After tapping a different pattern on the desktop he looked up at the two officers again, saying, "They want to talk to you, so if you could follow the runner," he rapped the desktop again and a bright blue line of light showed up on the pearly gray floor.

"Thanks muchly!"

They walked along the lighted ribbon of color, Torres finally laughed. "Should have made it yellow, eh, Angel?"

"And brick? You're such a loser. Did the secretary really say shibby?"

"He did indeed. He was precious. I won't tell Alex, we can all pretend that you're in blinders."

"I wonder what they want to talk to us about," Angel said, deliberately changing the subject.

"Maybe they want to acclimate the intrepid crime fighters to the new face of law enforcement in a controlled environment, sedatives at the ready."

"Shut up, Torres."

"Didn't think about that one, did you? They are Victorians-"

"You've been pointing that out every five minutes, thanks. I'm sure it won't be that bad."

"Have you taken an history class? Ever?"

Their argument stopped as abruptly as the blue line, at a door the same shining gray as the floor. "This'll be our Emerald City, then?" Torres said and knocked.

A young man who obviously cultivated the appearance of a stereotypical scientist- from dark framed glasses to spotless lab coat with pens in the pocket- opened it immediately with a smile. "Ah! These are the police officers I was telling you about," he said to the other occupants of the room. To the two outside, "Please, come in detectives."

There was a plainly audible snort of derision. Torres ground her teeth and glared at Angel. She had forgotten Holmes' attitude toward the police.

To further remind them, a sharp voice continued, "From my experience, police detectives are hardly the sort you would want solving crimes."

* * *

**AN:** I know, I know, it's hardly a proper introduction. More of the dynamic duo in the next chapter, I promise. It's just so hard to keep Holmes and Watson true to character and if I were to do a bad job of it I'd cry.

If anyone wants to tell my what they think of the original characters (namely Angel and Torres), that'd make my day. They're going to be a major part of the plot and if they're irritating then I should probably start fixing them now.

Right. Constructive criticism is always welcome as is just letting me know that you're enjoying it and would like to see me continue.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Chapter Four, hurray! Not only did this one kicked my butt, but real life got all squirrelly and this update took forever. My most profound apologies for that, and if any of you are still with me, I'll do my best to make sure that doesn't happen again.

In other news, as promised, a real introduction of Holmes and Watson.

Still looking for a beta, you can still reach me at GoblinQueenie on AIM and YIM and goblinqueenie at gmail dot com.

Hope you like it!

Chapter Four

"Holmes, please," a round, avuncular voice reprimanded mildly.

The scientist blushed and stepped aside to allow Angel and Torres to enter.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but I thought you said two _detectives_," Holmes said, sounding bored. He was much like the Paget illustrations, tall and slender with a long face and prominent cheekbones. Color didn't make much of a difference; he was still pallid with unremarkable dark hair.

Watson was slightly shorter and, like his voice, softer and friendlier, his bright eyes set in an open face. His hair was sandy and as neatly kept as the rest of him- he obviously cared about his physical presentation and the effect it had on others. The effect was pleasant.

Angel looked at Torres nervously and attempted to speak before she had a chance to fire back a retort of her usual charm.

It was too late.

"If we're to work together I suggest you learn our names. Being called detective always makes me feel as though I live in a dime store mystery novel."

Two sets of eyebrows raised, Holmes and poor Watson's. The good doctor was certainly out of sorts and was perfectly willing to show it. "I say," he began, "are they really letting the, ah, fairer sex into the police force?"

"Things have changed quite a bit," Angel said. "The New York City Police Department is an equal opportunity employer. Meaning that any gender, race or social class can be hired."

"Truth," Holmes said in the same bored and haughty tone, "is once again stranger than fiction."

This time both the scientist and Angel jumped in.

"You must be wondering what I wanted to speak to you about."

"So, Doc, what's the deal?"

Both men stopped and the scientist chuckled. "Great minds, eh?"

"Sure," Angel agreed.

"Forgive me for skipping introductions. We all got so, uh, carried away." He glanced around the room expectantly then continued without receiving whatever sort of response he'd anticipated. "I'm Tobias Gray, you both now Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. Mr. Holmes, Doctor, this is David Angel," here Angel smiled pleasantly, "And Ravenna Torres."

Silence fell again. Finally Torres said, "Dr. Gray, I believe you were going to tell us why we were here?"

"Indeed I was. I wasn't sure if you knew that you were getting the real pair, not the clones."

Surprise registered on both police officers' faces.

"I see you didn't. Well, neither the company nor the police department were interested in waiting for the clones to mature on their own, what with the risk of their minds being fundamentally different from the originals. So we pulled a neat time travel trick, if I do say so myself. But I'll explain that in a moment. The point is, that since they aren't regular clones they can't be educated as though they were."

"We all know 'brain downloads', or whatever the actual term is, don't really suit the delicate mature of a conscious and working mind," Torres said, impatience winning over self-control

"Right."

"If I may interrupt?" Holmes began dryly. "I hardly know what this 'download' is, but why can't we be educated as are doppelgangers were?"

"You see, Mr. Holmes, with the clones their minds were empty and inactive which meant that the input of data, namely your and Dr. Watson's memories, interfered with no internal workings. Conditions in your minds are quite the opposite."

"I see. Pray continue."

"Where was I?" Dr. Gray wondered aloud.

"I believe you were about to tell us that acculturating them was going to be done the long way and with frequent visits here," Torres supplied.

"Good heavens, I don't remember getting that far," Gray said, flustered.

"Pipe down, Torres," Angel whispered.

"What? I don't want to lose the whole day to this," she hissed back.

Holmes smirked and said, "Perhaps law enforcement has learned to recognize the importance of deduction."

"I'd say you have yourself a rival, dear boy," Watson chuckled, but it seemed forced.

"Oh, hardly that."

At that, Angel laughed.

Torres, much to his surprise, said mildly, "An inference, Mr. Holmes, not a deduction. Bit of a difference." The smirk disappeared entirely at her remark.

"Officer Torres, please," Gray protested, distressed.

Angel pitied him and changed the subject with, "Are you to be doing this by hypnosis, then, or immersion?"

"Hypnosis, I think," Gray said, recovering. "To begin with. It seems safer that way. I was going to explain the process then set up the first session. Unfortunately, I wasn't expecting you and your partner to arrive so soon. There's a lounge nearby, I can show you," he paused and tapped several 'keys' on a touch screen. The door opened again, revealing a green line on the floor traveling down the hallway. "I'll come get you when we're all done here."

"Thanks, Doc," Angel said, pulling Torres out of the door by one arm. Once they were outside, he glared at her. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Whatever," she said with a dismissive wave.

"No, seriously, what's your trauma? Can't you behave for five minutes?"

"No. Now, if we're going to argue about this, can't we do it in a semblance of privacy, instead of the damn hallway?" she asked rhetorically, already following the runner down the hall.

Angel heaved a martyr like sigh and followed her.

To call the room they were led to a 'lounge' was a bit of an exaggeration. It proved to be little more than several plastic chairs and a coffeepot on a matching plastic table. Once the door closed behind them, Angel said, "Private?"

"Enough."

"The hell?"

Angel and Torres had known each other and had worked closely together long enough that speech could be stripped down to the bare essentials.

"He's an asshat," she said with a shrug, pouring them coffee.

"Whatever. You were looking for a fight the minute you walked in the door. People say stupid things to you all the time and you can usually manage not to be a harpy if you want to."

"Look, Angel, just 'cause this guy was your childhood hero doesn't mean that he's not an asshat.

Rolling his eyes, he said, "That aside, would it kill you to be the least bit professional?"

"Maybe. Come of it, Angel, don't give me that professionalism bull. I'm not going to kowtow to his Detective-ness back there, no matter how much you or Gray want me to."

"Just as a favor to me, try, please try, to turn down the bitch level from eleven."

"If he acts like less of an asshat, sure."

Angel sat down abruptly into one of the chairs. "You say asshat way too much."

"I can't come up with a better description of him, can you?"

"Never mind. God, I hope you two kill each other."

Torres snorted. "At least I don't have to worry about that."

"Why not?"

"Victorians. Too moronic to know when someone's plotting their death. So, I'll be sure to get to him first."

"Wait now, too moronic?"

"How do you think homeboy in there earned his bread?"

"Heh. Homeboy."

"Shut up."

**AN:** Man. That was rough. I really want to know what ya'll think, now that the cast is just about assembled. Did I write Holmes and Watson in a passable way? Are Angel and Torres stupid fluff characters that ought to get out of the way? Please let me know, so I can continue tweaking.

As always, constructive criticism and all comments are welcome.


End file.
